When Blossoms Wilt
by Thordis Valentina
Summary: Transported to the eve of the Azuchi-Momoyama Era, a young woman finds herself forced into the final struggle between man and youkai.
1. Prologue

I know this site has always been a bit low on my priority list, and I suppose one can assume that I'm not that much of a fanfiction writer. This is true, though; because not only do I prefer writing my own stories, but I've also got a lot of other things to worry about now. So, while I've decided to continue with this story and Multicolored Mirrors, because I've already started them and I thought it'd be nice if I finish them… because I have a really bad habit of leaving a lot of my stuff unfinished (not cool at all).

Conclusively, while I may not submit any other stories on FF (dot) net, this one will continue. Thanks to anyone who enjoyed reading my stories and thank you to all who have supported me.

Thordis Valentina

9 / 13 / 2009

**When Blossoms Wilt**

_Thordis Valentina_

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**Rating:** M for complex themes  
**Genre:** Action/Adventure/Supernatural  
**Summary:** Transported to the eve of the Azuchi-Momoyama Era, a young woman finds herself forced into the final struggle between man and youkai.  
**Disclaimer:** You know what I mean

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**INTRODUCTION**

I'd like to apologize for the short notice and all the junk that you're about to read, but they are important (especially what you're about to read) because not only do I do answer a lot of questions that may arise in the duration of this story, but there will be the Glossary, which (if you haven't figured it out yet) is a mandatory read.

For the people who were kind enough to leave detailed reviews and add When Blossoms Wilt to their watch list, I am terribly sorry for deleting it. Also please excuse me for leaving the story on a year-and-a-half hiatus. I deleted it because I had to. If you want to know why, then read on:

I started working this story in the spring of 2007 and wrote out a few chapters before I uploaded the prologue about a week later. Unfortunately, as the chapters multiplied, I grew dissatisfied with the outcome and the direction of the story, so I deleted it in 2008 and re-uploaded it after adding in a few corrections. Since then, it had been left on a very long hiatus. Now that I've gone and re-read everything, I still couldn't find a direction for it, hence my conclusion to resubmit it _again_.

This, my friends, shall be the end of my vicious cycle. From hereon out, I will _**NOT**_ be making anymore large-scale revisions.

**SETTING**

When Blossoms Wilt is my interpretation as to why youkai are no longer present in Kagome's world and the setting I chose was Japan during the eve of the Azuchi-Momoyama era (in terms of figures that should be roughly between 1557 and 1563). I can't really say that this story falls into an AU because I plan on adding a segment that's set in a parallel world. But what I know for sure is that the story takes place after the conclusion of the manga and I have decided to make several references to that.

**CHARACTERS**

Just as a warning to everyone, there will be a LOT of OCs and a few of them will serve as main characters (I know for sure that the antagonist will be one). I'm well aware of the audience's reaction to this, and will assure you that I've gone out of my way to balance my OCs to the best of my ability. So I hope they'll be agreeable to everyone.

In spite of this, the primary character of the story will be Sesshoumaru for various reasons. I find him a very interesting character to work with, especially after his extreme development in the manga. Takahashi had done a lot to really change him and I thought it would be fun to build up on this. My other intention was to focus on the youkai side of the story because I felt Takahashi was focusing more with humans (as Inuyasha seems to have stronger affinities with them). Given that Sesshoumaru is a youkai, I felt he was more appropriate as the main protagonist than Inuyasha, and so this is the result of my choice.

Of course, there are other reasons as to why I've appointed the primary role to Sesshoumaru and not Inuyasha, but they're hardly important enough to discuss here, so, moving on…

I think a lot of you might have already put two and two together and may be assuming that this story is a nauseous attempt at a Sesshoumaru/OC pairing, but please hear me out and give this story a try. For the most part, I have no intention on pairing him with an OC nor do I wish to insert a lot of romance in this story. I'm more interested in action, a good, long adventure and the individual's psyche than romance itself. Additionally, I'm going to admit right out that I'm not very good when it comes to writing romance, so when it does roll around, it'll be understated.

As stated earlier, Inuyasha is not a pivotal character, but he along with Shippou will serve as supporting characters and are moderately important to the plot. Kagome, Sango (and her children), Rin and Kohaku will play minor roles. Naraku, Miroku and Kaede will not be making any appearances because they've all passed away (Miroku more recently), but will only come in mentioning.

**LENGTH**

This is going to be a long story. I've got the general idea on what's going to happen (I already know the ending to this story, actually, but that won't be written until much later) and I've given a lot of thought about the antagonist, but I think I've come to the conclusion that this story could span over 30 to about 43 chapters not including the prologue and the epilogue. On a brighter note, however, I've already stated that this story (and "Multicolored Mirrors") will be my last, so there won't be a sequel or a continuation. – Breathes sigh of relief –

So there you have it. I think I covered most of what I wanted to tell everyone for now. Thank you to all the patient people who actually took the time to read this behemoth of an introduction and please keep your eyes peeled for anything else I might want to inform you in the future. If you have questions regarding anything, just message me and I'll answer them. Thanks and enjoy the ride.

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**GLOSSARY**

I'll try to avoid using foreign jargons, but there are several terms that is either difficult/impossible to translate into English or necessary to set the mood of the story.

**Jou:** Traditional Japanese homes are often measured by the number of tatami mats covering the floor. Therefore a three-jou hut would have three tatami mats laid out on the floor.

**Kimono:** As most of you should know, 'kimono' is a general word used to describe traditional Japanese clothing. For men (samurais in particular), their daily choice of clothing consisted of two pieces: the _'haori'_ and the _'hakama'_ (meaning 'shirt' and 'pants' respectively), which were worn over an undergarment known as the _'nagajugan.'_

**Sode:** The sleeves of a kimono that gradually widen to form a dipping pouch all of which differ in length. The shorter ones are known as _kosode_ and the longer ones (worn exclusively by young unmarried women) are called _furisode_.

**Miko:** A female medium known for performing spiritual tasks including exorcism and religious rites.

**Suneate:** The shin guards on Japanese armor_._

**Wakazashi: **a supplementary sword that is shorter in length than the katana, this is different from the _tantō_, which is a knife.

**Waraji:** Straw sandals worn by monks and commoners (Miroku wears these).

**Z****ō****ri:** Traditional Japanese shoes (they look like the modern day flip-flops)

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**- Prologue -**

Cold water trickled in its rocky bed, its clear surface mirroring the deep, lofty cobalt sky bordering with crimson maple leaves. Tiny fish darted about in silent, blissful harmony, flicking their tails as they swam small circles under shady areas provided by a myriad of pebbles and rocks. They rested a moment in the mossy bank happily idling the day away, but suddenly scattered then darted in opposite directions, their transient peace having been rudely obliterated by the hooves of two horses clip-clopping and splashing through.

The horses ploughed through the stream, their ears flicking contentedly in the cool autumn breeze as their riders gently guided them toward a flat, vacant area surrounded by multicolored undergrowth. Here, they were halted with a gentle, "Wo!" and when the horses had come to a full stop, the riders swung their legs off their saddles and slid down on the dusty ground. They stood silently with their heads averted to a small ill-trodden path snaking up into the messy wilderness listening to forest sounds contemplative expressions on their countenances.

The first rider began knotting his reins to a sturdy branch then interrupted the quietude with a low, gravelly tone, "We go on foot from here; the horses won't be able to pass anymore." He looked to be in his mid twenties and wore his long, dark hair in a ponytail and sported an old, nasty scar running along the apples of his cheeks over his thick manly eyebrows, and disappearing into his fringes. Secured to his dusty blue hakama—which he wore tucked into a pair of suneate—his katana and wakazashi glinted in the early afternoon light.

"Are you certain we've come to the correct place, Akitami-sama?" The second rider asked, guiding his own horse and to join his companion by the tree.

Akitami frowned thoughtfully.

"To be honest, Isamu, I couldn't be certain of it myself." He plunged into thick, multicolored foliage and began hacking viciously at them with his wakazashi. Isamu followed closely, catching and pushing away stray branches snapping in his face. "But, from what I've been told as a child, there are times when the humblest of persons have the brightest shine."

"I see." Isamu muttered. He mulled over Akitami's statement as he reached out to grab the slender trunk of a young acacia, which he used to balance his thin frame on a ledge formed by two adjacent rocks. In his mind's eye he could picture the distant image of a withered woman with enigmatic, cloudy eyes. There would be a sort of unseen wisdom within the miko, he decided, and she would be the last person to seek when it came to spiritual rituals. Isamu nodded satisfactorily. With his curiosity quelled, he heaved the rest of his body over a scramble of roots and dead logs and continued his trek without further say.

**x x x**

When Akitami and Isamu caught a sliver of a modest dwelling camouflaged within the forest, the sun had already begun to dip closer to the horizon and their path barricaded by a large boulder protruding out over the dusty trail. They had to climb around this and with certain degree of difficulty so that by the time they managed to get to the other side, they were panting profusely and the pleasant coolness they had enjoyed earlier grew uncomfortably heavy and sticky.

Akitami stopped to wipe the perspiration off his brow with his left palm before restoring his blade to its home. In front of them, there was a hut that was built against a moderately sized niche. It consisted of an entrance blocked off with a tattered straw mat serving as the door, and no other openings except for a small opening cloaked by the thatched roof that was only identifiable by a thin waft of purplish smoke curling against the vibrant orange forest. Pushed up against the wall was a long, narrow bench and sitting upon that was a young woman wearing a rust-colored kimono under a pine haori.

Her face was youthful and a beautiful pale shade with small fleshy lips and deep grey eyes. Her hair, glistening like black satin, had been pulled back and knotted at the base of her neck to a small, tight bun. She was not precisely the person they were pursuing but there appeared to be no other person or dwelling present.

"Pardon our intrusion, miss," Akitami began, taken aback by a shock of youth, "We are currently in search for a miko known as Kameyo. We've heard that she resides somewhere near here and are a bit lost. Would you be so kind and point us in the right direction?"

"You've come to the right place, Samurai-san." The woman spoke in a deep, sagacious voice that was unlike her appearance. Isamu eyed Akitami surreptitiously; surprise had been inscribed clearly on his face. She rose from her seat and greeted Akitami and Isamu with little bow then drew the mat back and invited them in with a gentle sweep of her hand.

The two men hastily returned her bow and quickly passed into the hut. Inside, the air was hazy and smelt strongly of ashes, ink, and heavy incense. The living space was mounted about a foot off the packed dirt floor and measured two and half jou at most. On the furthest wall, facing Akitami and Isamu, stood a row of shelves filled with scrolls, brushes, books and other indiscernible items overlooking a hearth in the middle of the room bearing charred logs that glowed tangerine filling the room with a weak orange light.

Kameyo followed Akitami and Isamu, dropping the mat in place. She invited the travelers with warm words, offering them the spot closest to the hearth then removed her waraji and stepped up onto the naked floorboards. "If it is uncomfortable, please pardon the state of my home."

"We function perfectly well without luxurious commodities, miko-sama, and are most grateful for your concern." Akitami bowed again, this time less awkwardly, then removed his zōri and settled in his allocated seat. Isamu joined him with eyes (still wide and bovine) trained on Kameyo as she bustled about extracting various objects from the shelves and placing them on a pad due west, opposite to where the sun was setting.

The miko fell quiet and knelt gently. She lifted the lid of a small brass incense pot with an elegant hand, which she set down to take up a long, thin twig resting in a box near the hearth and drew her kosode back. She then jabbed one end into the reddest part in the burning logs, igniting the twig with a low flame, which she touched to the pot.

When the thin jets of ash-blue plumes rose up, the miko replaced the lid and cast the rest of the twig into the fire and settled on her heels, put her palms together in front of her chest, closed her eyes, falling into a long soundless meditation. The graceful whorls of the burning incense ascended languidly in the still air, oscillating and dancing about her head as they hovered and spread their woody scent about the small space.

**x x x**

Outside, the vermillion afternoon yielded to the dark night and the silence deepened until all that could be heard was the soft popping and cracking of small flames licking up against wood. The silence continued to congeal and expand and just when Akitami thought time itself had stopped, Kameyo picked up a long thin calligraphy brush. She dipped this into her inkstone and transferred it onto a long strip of paper, pressing the apex gingerly before dragging it across the emptiness, forming secretive strokes hidden in the dark shadows.

"You have a request Samurai-san," Kameyo said breaking the long silence. The world around them, however, remained rigidly still.

The strange magic swirling around him, Akitami regarded the miko with nonchalance. Despite his well-controlled expression, the glimmer of desperation was beginning to show signs within his dark irises. He could not trust himself to speak and retained his position tight-lipped. "That request cannot be fulfilled by ordinary means," Kameyo continued. Her hand had not stilled and the soft crinkling of her brush rubbing against paper mingled with the sizzling fire. "…So you came to me hoping that I can accomplish what cannot be done without divine power."

"No matter what the cost, my request must be fulfilled." The warrior had leaned forward so that he was halfway between sitting and standing. Isamu raised his eyes to Akitami and blinked owlishly, surprised at the desperation creeping into his master's tone. "Can you do it?" The miko paused and stared down at her work grey eyes trained on the shapes and lines, leaving Akitami's inquiry without a response. His voice sounded like a tiny echo rippling through a vast space.

Seconds and minutes slipped by, perhaps an hour or so, but to Akitami, it felt like days. The warrior kept his gaze on Kameyo, eagerly awaiting her answer and considered the possibility of reaching over and rousing her from her trancelike state. Still, she said nothing and he felt like an apparition slinking in the shade watching the miko set her brush on the side and gaze down upon what she had written like a cat staring into a clear pond full of goldfish. He felt so lonely and lost, so much so that he needed to speak to break the silent spell of hopelessness that he endured.

Akitami opened his mouth to say something… anything… but before he could utter even a single syllable, the miko suddenly plunged her entire arm into the floor.


	2. I

**When Blossoms Wilt**

**Rating:** M for complex themes  
**Genre:** Action/Adventure/Supernatural  
**Disclaimer:** Do not own

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**GLOSSARY**

I'll try to avoid using foreign jargons, but there are a few terms that either cannot be translated into English or are necessary to set the mood to the story.

**Hanten:** An informal, working-class version of the _haori_ that is padded for warmth in the winter.

**Honshū:** (literally "main state") the largest island of the Japanese Archipelago.

**Kiseru:** A long narrow smoking pipe; the perfect visual example would be the one Yuko frequently smokes from in Holic.

**Taiyoukai:** (Literally "Great Youkai") Extremely powerful youkai.

**Youkai:** Japanese mythological being. They are a fusion between a spirit and a monster and it was generally believed that youkai had special powers (i.e. transformation, longer lifespan, etc.) and were direct descendants of the Gods.

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**- I -  
**

THE HALF MOON SAILED LOW IN THE INKY SKY, CASTING ITS FEEBLE ARGENT LIGHT ON THE DARKENED MOUNTAIN TRAIL UPON WHICH SESSHOUMARU TREADED. Having left Jaken in an abandoned hut earlier, the taiyoukai traveled alone that night, accompanied only by his thoughts and the soft snow crunching beneath his booted feet. In the cold November air, he felt a sharpness that had little to do with the temperature.

Sesshoumaru paused and raised his head skyward—marigold eyes blinking languidly—as though to contemplate the celestial beauty. Indeed it was very cold that night; Sesshoumaru felt it against his face and hands, yet yielded no emotion on his cold, handsome face.

There had been a strange shift of scent in the wind and it piqued his interest greatly. Something new and intangible suspending in the night air—it felt powerful and he could sense a slightly ominous premonition stirring deep within even the recesses of his soul. That strangeness had been felt days ago. He could still smell it all around, lingering and tugging at a small thread of suspicion knotting in the back of his mind, ever so irksome.

Despite his annoyance, Sesshoumaru's instincts whispered to him from deep within and, to his surprise, he found himself tracking that foreign scent quite doggedly. It seemed as though he was wasting his time on something he had deemed trivial, especially given that he had other more pressing matters to attend to. Regardless of his crumpled mood, Sesshoumaru could not help but speculate a sort of connection. The connection was impossible for him to describe in words (not that he spoke often) and it would appear to remain so until he found the source of whatever it was that had been bothering him so.

That being said, Sesshoumaru continued up the slope, his thoughts spinning faster and faster still. Here, in this nameless mountain located at the northern-most end of Honshū Island, the smell had grown remarkably stronger. It had grown so potent Sesshoumaru found it difficult to keep his face smooth and a small wrinkle of puzzlement crinkled across the bridge of his nose.

The scent itself was neither pleasant nor unpleasant but Sesshoumaru had never encountered it before and thusly categorized it as foul. He didn't have any reason to. It just so happened to be that Sesshoumaru was a rather proud man so when he chanced upon a scent that perplexed him straight to his core, his mind automatically classified it as "disagreeable."

All in all, Sesshoumaru was in a wretched mood that evening, regardless of that fact that he had reached his destination at a comely time. It was supposed to be a good thing, of course—Still, Sesshoumaru's mood was, as of recent times, blacker than the darkest night itself. He continued to push his way through the gnarled foliage and had gone no more than a few paces before he was alerted by the weak glow of a lone lantern radiating from a small lean-to. A young woman wearing a brown hanten over her pine kosode sat on a bench just outside the hovel's entrance holding a ceramic cup in her hands.

"Good evening Youkai-san," she greeted the taiyoukai conversationally, but not without taking her eye off her unseen tea. Sesshoumaru emerged from the deep shadows silently unperturbed by Kameyo's friendliness.

Almost everything was exactly the same as it had been when Akitami and Isamu visited all those previous days. The only change that came to the hovel engulfed in dense forestry were the bare branches, the powdery snow, and a thin waft of smoke billowing out from the roof. Sesshoumaru inhaled quietly and the strong stench of heavy incents and mysterious magic almost overwhelmed his sensitive nose.

"A lovely cup of tea and conversation, perchance?" Kameyo goaded cheerfully as she set her own cup (apparently empty) on her bench and rose serenely to her feet. Sesshoumaru responded with cold, calculating eyes. It was not the woman who was completely immersed in that peculiar scent he had been tracking, but her home. "Perhaps you'd like to come inside?" Kameyo offered while smiled sweetly, perhaps as an attempt to be cordial, but to Sesshoumaru she appeared sugary and completely insincere.

"What sort of strange magic have you been weaving here?" He demanded in a leisurely but terrible voice. The seemingly-saccharine smile did not falter as Kameyo turned away from the door with grace that almost rivaled that of a youkai.

"A summoning," She said simply. "Requested by people whose names I shall not reveal."

Sesshoumaru didn't require nosing about to obtain information—that is, in the metaphorical sense; there was nothing to wheedle and prod from either, for Sesshoumaru was very good at discovering hidden little secrets. He smirked snidely to himself at the thought.

Still, Sesshoumaru noted with slight annoyance, Kameyo happened to be an honest woman apart from his discontent with her manner of approach. Should the taiyoukai happen to discover the source of her powers, he knew there was nothing he could do for she had told him precisely what he asked for.

The summoness, who had chosen not to approach him, positioned herself outside her hut entrance where she gestured cordially toward her guest. Already she was made aware of Sesshoumaru's exact reason to have come to her, whether it was conscious or not. Had he ever learned the truth behind that strange luring scent which carried him to her remote dwelling, he too would understand Kameyo's importance quite clearly; perhaps then would he also be liberated from his shadowy mood. Regardless, the man in question remained tenaciously guarded toward her benevolence and stared down at her through hard, amber eyes.

"Please," The summoner insisted amicably, gesticulating to her door again, "Do come in for some tea, if not that, then at least for a bit conversation."

Sesshoumaru's suspicions have not been qwelled and he did not relinquish his hold the small woman with intimidating eyes. He could not help but feel nothing but mistrust from this woman. What exactly was this strange woman up to? She knew he was a youkai; it was commonly accepted that humans throughout their generations feared him for what he was (an awfully terrible creature with immense power) and in the recent months, the humans' fear for him or anyone of his kind took on a rather aggressive bent. Thusly, when the woman invited him into her home with relaxed ease, Sesshoumaru decided she had nothing for him but malice and trickery. Yet, instinct whispered to him and when Sesshoumaru regarded her amicable disposition from a different angle, she seemed almost genuine… and regardless of Sesshoumaru's doubts, something within his core stirred him to accept.

The taiyoukai caught himself nodding once then approaching Kameyo's hut and stooping his head as he passed the threshold. Once inside, the summoness followed, dropped the woven mat behind her and hurrying toward her heath where she removed her shoes and bustled about to strengthening her fire. "Do make yourself comfortable, Sesshoumaru," She began as she added more wood to the glowing embers, "you'd only waste your energy standing about for so long." Sesshoumaru raised his brows upon hearing his name and Kameyo smiled brightly.

"You may call me Kameyo," she began conversationally, "Such a cold day, is it not?" A small flame grew from the red ashes and she was now setting a blackened kettle over the increasing flames. From a tray resting not far from where she knelt, the summoness scooped up the shriveled tea from a beautifully embellished box. She let the leaves slide into a ceramic teapot, shut its top and rested back on her heels, ready to spring into motion when the water boiled.

All the while, Sesshoumaru stood by the wooden uprising. He watched her movements quietly and meticulously, noting with slight distain that, despite his prior decline, this Kameyo woman had arranged two cups that were just large enough to hold an entire mouthful of tea. What interested to Sesshoumaru more, however, was not the fact that Kameyo was—in his opinion—a woman incapable of accepting a very simple and direct no. Rather, it was the foreign little oddities that lay hidden in all around her. Although the hut itself was clearly of Japanese making, Kameyo's tea things were clearly from the continent as was the more-important scent filling the entirety of her home.

"It is clear that you are hiding something that is not from these lands," Sesshoumaru stated as Kameyo prepared a large but elegantly sculpted pitcher full of piping hot water. The woman raised her head, her pleasant gaze meeting Sesshoumaru's steely eyes. "What's more," He continued savagely, "two human men have come to this place, men of whom I know quite well." Kameyo looked about ready to respond, but Sesshoumaru plodded on, "There is a third human, one of whom I haven't been acquainted with and your little home reeks of its stench. The most unusual concept of this is that the smell cannot be found anywhere outside here. Rather, it seems as though the scent of this third thing had come straight from within the very floor of your home. Was this not your doing, woman?"

The kettle began to foaming from the heat. Kameyo removed its lid, lifted it from its hook, and poured the water, piping hot into the open teapot so that the steaming liquid spilled over the smooth edge. She shut the lid and poured hot water over the covered pot before settling the kettle on its hook, away from the licking flames.

"It was," She affirmed, her busy hands finally stilling and settling in her lap.

"The humans are planning something, what is it?"

"You are thinking to kill me, given that I keep my silence," Kameyo said quietly, the vigor within her voice immobile, "That being the case, let us put it this way, the strange scent you've been trailing was of no coincidence. You are here because despite your stubborn denial, you require just as much aid as those men did two months prior. Our world has entered a time where humans and youkai can no longer coexist, and you know this just as much as I. Neither human nor youkai may stay on one given world, yet you strive to live on as did your forefathers, and so, knowing this, these men came to me seeking answers to the riddle of survival, as have you tonight."

A dark scowl marred Sesshoumaru's face. How dare this woman question the answer to his survival! "I, Sesshoumaru, do not harbor any quandaries" The taiyoukai said icily.

"Though you are more that fully capable of handling yourself, you are all quite aware of the existence of a higher being who conducts the tides of our life and they've concluded that humans and youkai must be separated. And while you may not carry the burden of trouble over your shoulders, there are those whom you care for who walk with that weight. Their troubles happen to become your troubles and so, whether you care to admit it or deny it, you are lost in a cycle of worry… thusly in need of help."

Despite his outward appearance, Sesshoumaru could not control the small buzzing pain pulsating with the core of his mind. It was a familiar pain that had come more and more frequently and continued to fuel his dour mood. Inwardly, as he stood listening to Kameyo, he grudgingly comprehended that soreness and how it cumulated.

"Deny it if you will," Kameyo sighed, "Still, you are here and because that is the case, you have problems requiring solutions. I assure you Sesshoumaru, those are the reasons why you have come here. You may not realize it now, but in time you will. If you tolerate my presence only a few minutes more, a new path will be paved and your destiny shall continue its course."

Wintry silence reigned Kameyo's hovel as Sesshoumaru considered her offer. The flames in the heath danced and the long vespertine shadows flickered violently against the walls and the shelves choking with scrolls. Sesshoumaru watched Kameyo seated on her tattered futon and saw that the previous near-mocking serenity had faded into a look that was both serious and profoundly real—a look that he could tolerate over that of smiles and pleasantries, for no matter how pure the inner motive, these felt too far away from his lifetime of strife and squalor so he could not help but nod again.

**x x x**

Sesshoumaru stood atop a barren, frozen knoll overlooking a weary path. It twisted through a narrow gorge without even a tuft of decaying grass in sight. Only ice and snow blanketed these lands with a lone, naked tree standing to one side, forever dead and never to blossom under spring's gentle breeze. He listened to the wind whistling through the crisp air, smelled the sharp coldness of it and the remained motionless under the bright, high sky with the sun so far away in her heavenly kingdom.

Here, on this empty land, Sesshoumaru waited and pondered over words that had been exchanged two nights ago with the strange and unpleasantly-pleasant Kameyo. She had suggested him to this soundless, visionless land and, regardless of his misgivings, Sesshoumaru found himself standing here concealed from any unlucky potentials who chanced upon him by the too-bright sun.

He heard them coming a mile or two away and smelt a curve in the wind, something strong. It sliced through the gelid air stronger than the calm icy world surrounding him and it was the same as that scent that filled Kameyo's home with its powerful smell. Moments passed and now it was not long before Sesshoumaru saw a gloriously built palanquin bobbing toward him in the distance. He sighted two men sitting high upon their horses, the two men whom Kameyo had received two months ago, and the same men whom he despised so greatly.

Akitami rode languidly along the path fully dressed in his vivid red and blue armor. His long ponytail had been done up in a tight topknot on his head and hidden beneath his elaborate helmet. Isamu rode next to him, also dressed in full armor, the hilt of his sword glinting in the morning light. Their horses trotted along the coarse road, their polished hooves tapping smartly against the packed earth. Behind Isamu and Akitami, six other men followed, also on horseback, each dressed in his own distinct armor, faces masked by mouthpieces carved and worn to frighten enemies.

These eight bodies continued along, all in perfect order and formation. They passed beneath the white taiyoukai without so much of a glance. The footsoldiers, all dressed in dull monotony, marched on in infallible formation and nestled amid the sea of leather and metal, the great palanquin floated as would a boat out at sea. It was large enough to encompass that of royals, with perfectly braided mats rolled down to conceal its rider. The glossy cherry wood hood gleamed scarlet under the high sun and the gold-gaited tassels twinned with silk ribbons swayed along with the motion of the palanquin. It was from there where Sesshoumaru felt that presence, which had intrigued his curiosity two nights ago. He felt it again and watched silently as the large train marched on, without a single person raising his head to where Sesshoumaru stood.

The men carrying the vehicle trudged on, minds focused only on the pain of the wooden bars pressing against their shoulders and the extra miles that were left until they were relieved from it. All the while, Sesshoumaru only watched, eyes burning onto their burden, mind whirling faster and faster with Kameyo's words. Behind those embellished walls sat the only human since the ancient times with power that would one day cause so much misery to his kind.

Moving in measured paces Sesshoumaru pursued the men, careful to keep his figure hidden in the sun's radiant shadow. When they passed out the gorge some hours later, Sesshoumaru fell many paces back and tailed them, relying on his sense of smell, which was exceedingly good.

By then, the sun had vanished behind a blanket of dark clouds, which had settled quickly, covering the earth with dull colorless light. Despite the change, the scent doggedly led Sesshoumaru through a wayward village, charred to the ground and devoid of anything that breathed. Large tufts of snow fell from the sky, packing onto the old landscape. A strong easterly wind gushed by, upsetting Sesshoumaru's silver hair and spraying snow as it passed.

The footsteps in the ground were fresh and the scent of that strangeness even fresher still. They slipped through the remaining clutter of burnt and splintered homes and into a mountain carpeted with dark evergreens. Sitting at the flattened summit, Sesshoumaru could see a fortified palace standing about ten stories high behind large stone fencing erected as high as humans could build them. It was not long when the great procession reappeared, now considerably smaller in comparison to when Sesshoumaru had seen them in the early morning.

Surrounded by the charred splinters of the dilapidated village, Sesshoumaru stopped and only watched as the convoy passed out of sight. As he watched the gates close, his mind worked, clicking and processing all that he had seen and heard with smooth efficiency. It wasn't before long that he understood precisely what Kameyo meant about paving new destinies. The headaches that mounted within him and the frightful mood he had fallen into as of late lightened considerably and, after sixty-six years, Sesshoumaru finally understood exactly what was needed to be done.

* * *

_A chapter finally done and out of the way… in how long...? Only the devil knows!_

_But one chapter finally done after grueling laziness and… and… other shit you don't need to know about that only the devil knows._

_So, without further ado… comments? Hit the review button! Questions? Send me a message!_

_A bientôt, mes amis!_


	3. II

Some of my ideas changed a little, so I've done a bit of minor editing for this chapter. It's nothing major, though. The plot and character motives are relatively the same.

Thordis Valentina

4 / 19 / 11

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**When Blossoms Wilt**

**Rating:** M for complex themes  
**Genre:** Action/Adventure/Supernatural  
**Disclaimer:** Do not own

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**GLOSSARY**

I'll try to avoid using foreign jargons, but there are a few (in today's case, MANY) terms that either cannot be translated into English or are necessary to set the mood to the story.

Amaterasu: _(Mythology)_ Japanese Sun Goddess and very important. She was born from _Izanagi's_ left eye.

Furi: The long swinging section of the _sode_ (sleeve), often used as pockets.

Hanyou: Half-youkai (though I'd be using this word as I would with "half breed")

Hinezumi: (fire-rat) the type of material used to make Inuyasha's clothes.

Hitoe: Sort of like the haori. There are further, more complicated garments from the Sengoku era, but that would sooner tire everyone so I'm just settling with _hitoe_ and _haori_ to make everyone's life easier.

Kami: Traditional Japanese gods

Kitsune: Fox Youkai

Kote: The gauntlets on a Japanese armor, this is connected to the _tekko_ (hand guard), while the _sode_ (the sleeve-like part) is detachable.

Mokomoko: The white fluff on Sesshoumaru's shoulder, nicknamed as such by fans.

Mori: Forest

Okaasan: Mother

Sashinuki: Sashinukis are special types of hakamas with a chord running through the hem. This can be drawn tight around the ankle, thusly creating that wonderful ballooning effect seen on Inuyasha's clothes.

Shoji: Traditional Japanese doors.

Sodegochi: Sleeve opening

Sokutai: Complicated garment-tops worn only by the emperor, aristocrats, and the like.

Tabi: Traditional Japanese socks with a cleft between the second and big toe, for the zori and the waraji.

Tate-eboshi: A courtesan hat, black in color and usually paired with the sokutai. It is small in relation to the head and stands tall. I believe this came out from either the Heian or the early Sengoku period.

Tori: A holy gate made of two wooden pillars joined by another wooden beam. These are often painted red and come in various sizes.

Tsukuyomi: _(Mythology)_ Japanese Moon God, born from Izanagi's right eye. Legend has it that Amaterasu and Tsukuyomi got into a feud after he killed _Uke Mochi_ (goddess of food) out of disgust toward the way she prepared the feast. Since then, Amaterasu couldn't stand to share the same celestial realm with Tsukuyomi.

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**- II -**

SNOWFALL HAD QUICKENED CONSIDERABLY WHEN SESSHOUMARU RETURNED TO THE RUN-DOWN DWELLING. It also by this time that day had faded yet again and Tsukuyomi—hiding behind a thick mass of clouds—returned, repulsing Amaterasu away as he always did.

The little structure stood miles away from the grand fortress and closer to the nameless mountain upon which Kameyo could be found. Similarly to other regions of northern Honshū island, it too had been erected on fairly uneven grounds, almost completely swallowed up by bramble and nature. In front of the hut lay open air and a steep, endless slope densely coated with pines and deciduous trees tumbling down toward a narrow stream now frozen over and hidden under surmounting layers of snow falling from the heavens. There was no path leading to or from the hut, only a small crack in the dense whiteness (formed by Sesshoumaru wading through its smoothness) lying atop crumbling brown bushes standing waist-high.

Sesshoumaru's long hair trailed along behind him, their ends sketching abstract patterns over the flawless surface only to be quickly buried beneath another layer of soft ice. Even in the terrible storm, the land lay so peacefully amid the discordant symphony of the strengthening blizzard. Sesshoumaru could have enjoyed the screaming and whistling tempest, had his mind been free of thoughts and plans swirling faster all inside his head than the snowstorm itself. The splintered remains of the cottage was just within range and he had gone no more than a few paces when his machinations and riddle-solving fled quickly with the horridly tranquil snowstorm succumbing to a loud and very obnoxious voice.

"SEEEEEEESSHOUMARU-SAMAAAAAAAAAAA!"

It was high-pitched, scratchy, and dreadfully excruciating on Sesshoumaru's fine-tuned ears. He should have cringed as any good-natured youkai would, only Sesshoumaru was anything but genial and sociability and so he walked on visage remaining as it was: placid and unmoving like that of a beautifully-painted mask. As his lack of facial reaction, Sesshoumaru did not halt either, choosing instead to continue trudging through the layers of snow as though no sound had punctured his peace of mind. Not before long, the white youkai was out of the icy thicket and crossing the small clearing, that obnoxious screech now white noise against the screaming winds and the snow viciously pelting everything it hit.

As though deeply offended by his reaction, the paperless shoji tore open with such force that it rattled off its flimsy tracking and spit out a blur of maroon and green. This strange shapeless figure approached Sesshoumaru at alarming speed, that high-pitched guttural call was still crowing the final syllable of his name. In spite of this, Sesshoumaru's posture did not alter in the slightest until it became too loud to be ignored. A disheartened grunt and a piteous groan curtailed the inhuman wail was.

Sesshoumaru lowered his chin and stared passively down at a mess of scattered dirt and snow where his boot now rested, sole pointing out and pressed up against that green and maroon something. Tiny sodes stuck out in opposing directions from which shriveled tri-fingered hands protruded, waving in manic urgency. Fisted in its right hand was a wooden staff bearing the heads of a laughing old man and a mourning young woman carved so they spiraling up against each other. This too bobbed comically in an up-and-down fashion.

"So cruel…" Sesshoumaru's boot moaned piteously. The taiyoukai lifted his foot, which thankfully happened to be that his shoe had _not_ sprouted arms _nor_ obtained a mind and a voice of its own. Rather, there lay on the frozen ground a bizarre, scrawny creature positioned spread-eagle on his back. Its noseless little head was tilted three-quarters to the right where large bulbous eyes blinked slowly on an ugly face dirtied by the dust and grime. Its mouth—which closely resembled a cross between of a turtle's snapper and a bird's beak—opened and closed, occasionally emitting a sort of inhuman gurgle and light foam bubbling out to one corner.

"Jaken," the taiyoukai began calmly now that the pained burbling had stopped. Sesshoumaru paused as though he meant to add more but said nothing. Instead, he settled on watching Jaken pick himself up, wiping the remnants of his saliva on the sleeve of his dull bronze sokutai, which he wore over a pair of rose-grey sashinuki. "You've returned, Sesshoumaru-sama!" Jaken crowed happily (despite his prior depression) in between the spitting of snow, which had fallen conveniently into his mouth. He was a tiny youkai that stood no higher than Sesshoumaru's knee and looked particularly hideous as he lowered his large head to despondently dust snow from his tate-eboshi.

"I was so worried at first…" He babbled melodramatically, "That perhaps something happened to you, not that anything could possibly bring harm to the invincible, incredible and almighty Sesshoumaru-sama, but I was still so worried that you'd never come back and could have been… _distracted_ for you were gone so long—longer than I thought you—I mean the greatly exalted Sesshoumaru-sama would take anyway—so I began to think that something awful happened to yo…."

"Jaken," Sesshoumaru tried again, his tone now bordering on mild frustration. The little youkai, now midway in his extensive tangent, quickly snapped his beak-like mouth shut. He raised his great yellow eyes to his master, with the vain hope of praise for his worries and, possibly, a token of forgiveness. For all his anticipation, however, this was quickly dashed by a bland "Shut up." Jaken tried his best not to whimper too loudly, lest he anger his master again, but the pain did not subside. He had burdened the venerable Sesshoumaru with his senseless chatter and the prospect swelled within the little youkai, angry and hot.

Pleased have returned to the peace of the screaming tempest and blinding snow slamming against everything, Sesshoumaru turned away from his sniveling retainer and raised his head skyward.

The winds shifted, upsetting the long tendrils of his hair that spun with the gust circling him. The ends of his silk sode flapped madly in the wild unnatural air current as Sesshoumaru's feet lifted off the snow as he ascended high in the air. Seeing this, Jaken relinquished a panic-stricken squawk. He sped after his master, who now hovered a good three feet off the ground and accelerating as he rose like a white apparition without stop. Panting, Jaken rushed as close as he could to Sesshoumaru then, mustering the rest of the little strength he had, jumped up and fisted his master's mokomoko.

Beneath them, the ground fell away, shrinking so quickly that the vacant, broken hut disappeared almost instantly behind pine needle clouds. Jaken clutched Nintoujou safely in the crook of his arm and sighed, relieved that he had not been alone.

They ascended quickly, soaring from the mountain through the icy precipitation then piercing through the snow clouds with ease. They grey darkness faded away to a panoramic field of stars, coruscating high in the velvety sky. The blackened wisps smeared away from Sesshoumaru's eyes and he was greeted by the large clarion half-moon, tilted fantastically on one side, casting its haunting radiance over the night realm.

He sailed languorously now, gleaming white hair streaming back like banners. His bangs fluttered in the frigid air, and his clothes billowed out behind him, resembling a great white cloud. Sesshoumaru flew through the sky, following a trail invisible to all but himself. Beneath him, there was only cottony whiteness that blanketed a darker world of whiteness. Up here, the world felt pure, but not without the elusive foreboding darkness.

There were few other beings that could sense it, Sesshoumaru was of the few who did and the only one who cared. He could smell it stirring deep inside the hearts of men slumbering below. Such a thought brought another frown to his face and once again, the cogs in his mind began to click and turn as it had never ceased to do so. All that he had been told; the important things, Akitami and Isamu, the troubles, the tensions, the strange palanquin, and the lofty fortress, looped in an endless cycle. As Sesshoumaru soared through the crisp air, these thoughts circulated in an endless circle until the invisible walls individualizing them melted and they merged into one troublesome thought. It was from this, where a devastating resolution was born.

The thought was a necessary and terrible one, even to Sesshoumaru. Yet, he was not one to decline an option if it was the only one, no matter how horrendous it proved to be. Such was the vicious way of survival, which so many—even youkai—sought. Though he loathed to admit it, troubled times were ahead. This was not readily apparent now, it was still present as a shadowy, unseen mist whorling across the whole Land of the Rising Sun and affected all the living creatures that walked upon it.

Sesshoumaru glided through the night. Invisible plans quickly sketched themselves out in his mind, but they were concepts easier done with two able bodies not one, despite him counting for more than twenty able men. Jaken was entirely unreliable, so damaging as it was to his pride, Sesshoumaru accepted the fact he needed at least one reinforcement who was equally-matched as he was in capability. So with this in mind, he was headed in the direction of that other person who resided in a small village amid other humans, somehow having surpassed the ugly stains of mistrust and fear blossoming across once-beautifully woven silk.

They were plummeting now with pleasant grace, slipping away from the glittering celestial jewels and Tsukuyomi reclining comfortably on his vast, well-padded dais. The storm clouds loomed quickly before the white youkai before he plunged through the thick sheerness without a moment's hesitation. They descended swiftly until Sesshoumaru landed on a field of soft, rolling foothills with a soundless whoosh. Like up north, this southern clearing also lay covered by the same frozen mantle spread all across it.

The snow had slowed again and large flakes were now drifting lazily from the black early morning sky. In the distance, Sesshoumaru espied Inuyasha-mori standing thickly and beyond that, sitting just on the horizon, a thin shaft of smoke curling from a diminutive village. He caught a whiff of familiar scents. It was here where his brother resided along with his family and perhaps the only human companion he knew. Suddenly having recognized the familiarity of the landscape, Jaken turned an astounded gaze to his silent master, mouth open but saying nothing for fear that he might annoy the white youkai.

It had been years since they had ever set foot in this sleepy human village, not since Rin's marriage to Kohaku fifty-nine years ago when she had blossomed into a becoming woman of seventeen. For Sesshoumaru, it had been a time of mixed feelings where there were barriers to overcome, such as his fierce paternal protectiveness that had suddenly befallen him. Not after a certain incident that occurred all those years ago. Regardless, the boy had proven to be not only a sturdy man of good looks, but also a capable one who was always gentle with Rin as he learned to be during darker years involving an elusive pink gem. Consequently, this emotion had been reluctantly swallowed. Rin—the darling girl who once gathered wildflowers and woven childish garlands for him… _his_ little girl—was given to Kohaku in holy matrimony.

Shortly, a few months after their marriage, Sesshoumaru had gone away, never returning because there had been no need to return until now. Rin was returned to her people and now in the safe custody of her new husband who completed his responsibilities perfectly. He did not expect to come back, not so soon. Yet here he was, strolling across the wide meadow, his long tube of fur trailing behind him. Sesshoumaru stopped, quietly camouflaged in the snow and a few slumbering birch trees near the edge of Inuyasha-mori. Molten eyes gazed out at the village.

Little had changed during the passing decades. The same wooden huts sprung up from the snowscape, dark and wearing thatched rooftops, looking very much the same as they did when Kagome stumbled upon it nearly seven decades ago. There was also the distinct fact that the size and quantity of these homes had neither increased nor decreased, their numbers remaining exactly as they did previously. At the furthest end of the hamlet, Kaede's hut stood next to a long set of granite stairs climbing uphill. Framing this was a scarlet tori standing as a conspicuous wash against the colorless landscape.

Sesshoumaru stepped out from the forest and strolled purposefully through the little village past the houses full of sleeping families until he stood just outside the darkened hut. Once upon a time, it had radiated a welcoming glow even without the square of light filtering from its one window. Now, Kaede's hut stood in cold vacancy, not having been lived in for many years. Jaken took it upon himself to inspect the inside. He scarcely drew his skinny arm out to push aside the grey mat, when soft footsteps jolted his attention to his master's retreating back.

"AWP! Don't forget me!" He cried loudly and literally paddled up the stairs after Sesshoumaru in double speed.

They ascended the smooth stone steps which, Sesshoumaru noted, had been swept before the first call of the cockatiel. The white youkai mounted this with ease, but Jaken (who was less fortunate) slipped just as he overtook his master and skidded all the way down to the bottom, calling heart-wrenchingly to him. This, Sesshoumaru ignored pointedly. In the end, however, he made it to the top of the landing, albeit barely.

Jaken flopped on his stomach by Sesshoumaru's feet, tiny chest heaving. Short bursts of mist puffed in time with the retainer's noisy wheezing. His limbs felt like wooden stumps after having expended so much energy than necessary to climb back to the top. He would have liked to rest until he caught his breath, but when he looked to Sesshoumaru, the white youkai had moved on, completely oblivious to the repose Jaken desperately sought. Little beads of tears formed on the corner of the retainer's eyes and his vision blurred. Sometimes, despite his unending servitude, there were moments when Jaken simply could not understand his master. Jaken's devotion, however, ran as deep as the ocean. Thusly, his rare burst of frustration toward Sesshoumaru would never blossom into the angry fire flower Rin carelessly plucked on some occasions. So the retainer promptly picked himself up and forced the remnants of his strength into his limbs only to run into Sesshoumaru's immobile legs.

Marigold eyes blinked calmly across what was once a humble shrine. The shrine had expanded a little in size, bearing a few changes. For one, a goodly amount of land had been cleared. At the furthest end, near the forest edge, stood an innocuous well; between this, a modest hut had been built a few ways from the left of the stairs. To careless eyes, it would have looked as though the original shrine had been demolished, but the original shrine remained perfectly intact, erected in the exact same location.

Most of the little buildings were devoid of light, save for the little one-story house to the left of the Goshinboku. A friendly glow and a strew of scents, some old and familiar and others young and different, drifted comfortingly in the bitter air. Enveloping this was the presence of another scent Sesshoumaru was certain he knew but could not quite recognize. It had faded with the tides of time, but not much that had left the grounds entirely.

Sesshoumaru approached the hut, Jaken tottering alongside him, the end of his soft mokomoko dragging a shallow trench in the snow behind them. They had not come within arm's length of the house when the shoji quickly slid open, rattling softly.

There were rare moments when Sesshoumaru had ever been surprised and even fewer persons who had been there to witness the emotion spreading across his usually even countenance. He had expected change in his mind and spent many years mentally preparing himself for the shock that was to greet him that night; it was then that Sesshoumaru realized that sometimes, no matter how hard a man steeled himself to the impact of time's handiwork, it was never the same as actually seeing and smelling it. The reality of seeing Rin frail with age was so shocking, Sesshoumaru could not stop the widening of his eyes and the small parting of his mouth. In the fifty-nine years that passed, Rin had transformed from a young supple woman to that of an elderly lady who was shriveled and old. Her kindness, however, was still largely evident in her face and paling eyes, which were still lucid as a cloudless autumn sky.

Just as Sesshoumaru wore his rare expression of astonishment, Rin too stared back with stunned silence at the man who had once been like a favorite uncle to her—for her own reasons, of course. Then slowly, as the warm spring zephyr melts the silent winter, her withered lips spread out into a radiant smile and she gazed down happily at Jaken who had been too surprised to utter the littlest of sounds.

"Sesshoumaru-sama, Jaken-sama," she began not in the shrill childish voice they had been so accustomed to, but a voice laced with weathered wisdom. Having been kneeling on tatami mats, Rin had to wiggle away as fast as her now-ancient body would allow her so to offer her two favorite persons into the hospitality and warmth of her home. "Had I known that you'd be coming," she started, now that the dust of shock had settled, "I wouldn't have let Inuyasha go out tonight; family, no matter how slight the relation, is important, after all."

Sesshoumaru bent to remove his soggy boots out of rare politeness, but Rin stopped him. In all the years that had passed, she remembered his stubborn pride and still harbored deep respect toward him. The old lady let him enter her home with his boots on, but not without, as the white youkai noted with mild amusement, wiping his soles clean first. After her guests had been properly seated, she hurriedly knelt by a large lump reposing in the corner of the room and roused a young man in his late twenties. "Quickly now, Nagoyakabou" Rin whispered in the dull candlelight, half-dragged the sleepy man (a staggering replica of Kohaku) behind the drying laundry.

"What is it, Okaasan?" Nagoyakabou slurred, "Who is that strange old man over there?"

"That is not an old man," Rin corrected in a hurried but soft tone vigilant of waking the others, "He is Sesshoumaru-sama. Now hurry and be dressed, then I will explain once you have come out by the hearth."

It was not before long that Rin and her son (which explained the heavy semblance to Kohaku) Nagoyakabou were seated in front of Sesshoumaru and Jaken. He stole curious looks at these strange, unacquainted visitors, Jaken in particular. "He looks just like Inuyasha-sama," Nagoyakabou whispered to his mother recognizing the silver hair and golden eyes. All the stories his mother had told him as a child that he had nearly forgotten came back to him. "Could he be his half-brother?"

"Yes," Rin said clearly, for she knew there was no secret in lowering one's voice in the presence of a being who had awed her so when she was only a little girl, "This is Sesshoumaru-sama, Inuyasha's half-brother, and to you, Sesshoumaru-sama, this is my youngest child, Nagoyakabou. I offer you my deepest regrets of having not introduced you to my daughter and my other two sons. They are not here." The taiyoukai nodded his head in acknowledgement of Nagoyakabou. He didn't mind the absence of her older children.

While he was the sort of person who wasted little time with humans, Rin was a special exception, and this omission extended even to her youngest offspring as Sesshoumaru saw and felt he was as virtuous as their parents and those whom they grew up with. The night, however, was an urgent one and Sesshoumaru was not one to dawdle even on idle days. He was a curt man who did not believe in making time for leisurely moments, always finding something interesting or important to busy his time away; that being said, he cut straight to the chase.

"Where has Inuyasha run off to?" The question had come out scarcely after Nagoyakabou awkwardly greeted him in a tone cold as ice with the consistency of tightly-woven silk. Neither Rin nor Nagoyakabou had the chance to answer, however, because as the elderly lady attempted to explain, she interrupted by the shoji rolling, this time with a rude snap. From it came the life-hardened voice of a familiar hanyou.

"Right behind you, asshat." Inuyasha stood by the entrance, one clawed hand against the doorframe where he had just torn it open. Their father's hinezumi hitoe and hakama that he wore were as red and colorful as ever. Like the hamlet in which he resided, he too had changed very little on the outside, save for the fact that he now sported the face of a man of nineteen years. The hanyou trampled noisily into the room slamming the shoji behind him as he entered. This roused a much smaller bundle, from which the strong scent of a kitsune emanated. A young boy sporting a shock of auburn hair sat up and blearily rubbed his eyes with the back of a clawed hand.

"What's all that noise?" He whined in a drowsy, lustrous voice. "Inuyasha, stop being a jerk-face and quit that damned racket you're making." Goaded by the kitsune's complaints, Inuyasha whirled in on the kitsune boy and began tromping even louder. Jostled awake, he sat up straight, emerald eyes flashing angrily. "Could'ya please knock it off? I can't sleep." Shippou pushed his covers off his wiry body and stood up in the dim light, now fully awake. He shot Inuyasha a particularly venomous look.

"Keh! The hell with sleep, like you really need it, stupid kitsune brat."

"Inuyasha-sama…" Rin sighed wearily.

"What did you call me?" The kitsune boy flew to his feet, hands balled into fists. In the place where there had once been a tail, was nothing at all, and the tiny fox feet Sesshoumaru vaguely remembered were gone and replaced by ones that were far more human in shape save for the little developing claws growing in place where there should have been ordinary blunt toenails.

"…Shippou, we have guests." A stern eye from Rin checked the angry kitsune.

"Tch. Why bother with all this formalty bullshit? It's only Sesshoumaru." Inuyasha snapped, but he leaned grudgingly against the wall and said no more while Shippou hastily pulled on a threadbare haori. The hanyou remained eerily tacit even as they gathered around their guests with Rin (sometimes joined by the kitsune) telling Sesshoumaru and Jaken stories of all that happened after the wedding and how life now operated comfortably in their home built by the most important men of her life. Through it all, Sesshoumaru discreetly observed Inuyasha, puzzled by the prospect of how Inuyasha stood a few paces away from the rest, stony eyes fixed on empty space. What he found more perplexing was how silent his brother was even when Jaken crowed with throaty laughter after a plethora of embarrassing episodes involving the hanyou.

As a child, Inuyasha was, as Sesshoumaru recalled, one who shied away from the hustle and bustle of activity but not without the jealous longing gleaming in his eyes. The older, supposedly evolved Inuyasha may have still retained his usual brusque character, but there was a paradox addition of hardened silence that was slightly unnerving even to Sesshoumaru.

Strangely, in the years that had passed them by, it seemed as though none had changed, but the differences between old and new soon became pronounced and spread out, rapidly affecting everyone, even Sesshoumaru. Despite his usual frosty exterior, it could be said by some that Sesshoumaru had mellowed out just a little. He was no longer the child who hid the truth of his heart (inherited from the revered Inu no Taishou) behind a wall false pride. These changes were slight nonetheless, but there were rare occasions when the ice encasing his emotions did melt. Yet none outside this small circle of old-timers were made aware of this. Hence, it was not strange to them when Sesshoumaru expressed a sliver of interest to Inuyasha's confounding behavior… though it was with a careless sort of demeanor.

Inuyasha seemed had reversed from who he was after Naraku's death. Somehow, while others moved forward in life, he had drifted back down the bank and returned to a point in his earlier life when his milk-teeth were still planted firmly in his mouth. It was not that Inuyasha had become childish and scared, only that he had donned a more adult persona of qualities Sesshoumaru thought he had long outgrown.

"Well," Whatever the hell you want from me, Sesshoumaru, I ain't doing it." Inuyasha spoke up, harshly cutting through Shippou's animated recount involving a certain little green youkai that seemed to affect Jaken greatly.

"So rude," Rin clucked disapprovingly as she shook her head, "We all understand what happened sixty-three years ago, but you have no excuse to…"

"I don't wanna hear about that _whatever-the-shit-happened-sixty-three-years-ago_ bull ever again!" Inuyasha exploded, velvety ears standing up straight with fury. The hanyou shoved himself off the wall, directing his ire on his nonchalant half-brother, "As for you," he indicated to Sesshoumaru with a clawed index finger, "I don't know what you want nor do I give a rat's ass about it, but no fucking way." Stuffing his hands into his furi, he left as noisily as he had come in, the smart tap of the shoji signaling his leave.

Sesshoumaru regarded the situation completely unperturbed, though he did harbor an inkling of curiosity as to what occurred.

"We don't talk about _that_ year much in consideration of Inuyasha's feelings," Rin began, quelling his inquisition a little, "It was a terrible, terrible year not just for the village, but to us, and above all, Inuyasha." She paused briefly and looked to be about to say something else but mournfully stooped her head. "My apologies Sesshoumaru-sama, it would be better to ask Inuyasha-sama himself as this subject is a sensitive matter for him. I hope you would pardon me if I keep the whole story from you."

Silence reigned. The fire that had been renewed upon Sesshoumaru and Jaken's arrival dwindled down to a small flame, as though it too were recalling a bitter running deep in the household while they sat in a moment of quietude. This, however, had passed no more than a minute or two before Nagoyakabou bent forth and fed the dying fire. The red flames sprung up, tongues flickering merry and golden again.

"So that is the case," he murmured contemplatively, "If that is so, then it cannot be helped." Sesshoumaru rose to his feet, startling Jaken as he stood. The others raised questioning eyes to him. "Come Jaken, if Inuyasha will not give his aid, then it must be done alone."

Rin followed Sesshoumaru's gesture and led them to the entrance. She, above everyone else, understood all too well that Sesshoumaru was a free soul and stayed no longer than he deemed necessary. The others mimed Rin's lead respectfully for she was no longer a child, but a village elder who was to be honored and treated as such. Certainly, she did live up to her title for Rin was a virtuous and honest woman. For all it was worth, her not a single space in her mind was clouded with selfish discontentment. Nothing brought her greater joy than to see his face for the first and last time in fifty-nine years before she, too, followed her late husband into the netherworld.

**x x x**

The palanquin had already passed safely through the main gates and up the many slopes leading to the citadel long before the blizzard struck. The footsoldiers who had surrounded it dispersed, called by their officers to other menial tasks. The rest of the envoy proceeded along the sandy path, through a labyrinth of bleached walls until it opened to a wide courtyard overlooking the main fortress.

Here, the servants bent their knees, crouching as low as they could muster. Directly in front of them, the entrance to the tiered castle stood on a platform hovering good two feet off the ground. Presently, the shoji slid back and another man, the lord of that glorious fortress, stepped out onto the wooden verandah. He was a little taller than Akitami, his long glossy hair combed and tied back, away from handsome face curiously free from any battle scars that usually mottled any warlord's face.

"Akitami Taishou," He spoke lofty, "You've returned safely and without fail."

He gazed down at his subjects through eyes clear and bold as the dark soil of freshly plowed land. Akitami and Isamu dismounted their horses and delivered a swift, reverent bow. The servants waited patiently to be dismissed. "We offer our deepest apologies for your extended wait, Mononobe daimyo," The taishou paused and Mononobe nodded his head expectantly. "As per your request, we have returned as speedily as the gods would permit."

This lord stood on the polished floorboards in his tabi, arms folded casually behind his back. He was dressed in the appropriate manner befitting of a warlord. The indigo silk haori he wore with its sleeves tucked into a matching pair of onyx kote was without pattern, but its color rich. A haughty pinched sort of expression, common to those of noble breeding, roved over to where the carriage servants awaited.

"What," He gesticulated to the ostentatious palanquin waiting unassumingly before him, "May I inquire, is that?"

"It is what you seek, daimyo-sama." Akitami reported simply.

At his command, the shades lifted and from it, the servants extracted a very young woman—sallow-faced with motion-sickness. She was not beautiful by traditional standards with a ski-sloped nose slightly bigger in proportion to her small ovular face. Her skin, though pinkish in tone, was two tones darker than what was deemed appropriate in women of the time. In spite of the young woman's obvious flaws, she possessed a pair of large eyes, the color of dark, luminous honey. A small wrinkle creased in Mononobe's brow. She looked to him strange, not at all in the ethereal sense, but odd enough nonetheless. Could she be a youkai? He frowned. A youkai that took the form of a human was a rare occurrence—at least this was what he had been told by the elders in his childhood. Should Akitami have been misfortunate to encounter one, it would have only been by the miraculous will of the kami that he was standing in his court, unharmed.

He scrutinized the sickly young woman sagging before him, vaguely reminded of a deflated jute sack. Was this scrawny girl really what he had risked to obtain?

"Is that a youkai?" Mononobe intoned languidly after much contemplation. Then again, it made little sense as to why Akitami would through the trouble of stuffing one in a palanquin. This, however, did little to emolliate his apparent distain toward the idea. He had been expecting something far more palpable in terms of the generic miko—small, young, and demure.

"I assure you, Taishou," Akitami said, his voice reverberating in the hushed courtyard. "She is a miko."

"Oh?" Mononobe countered as he paced the length of the verandah, "And have you proof that would not convince me otherwise?"

"Your concern is understandable, daimyo-sama. She seems rather… _eccentric_, but there is no helping it. Though it may not please you, we have visited Kameyo-sama and she has affirmed that this miko may be of great aid."

"Then you claim this cooty old hag is not a flimsy little fairytale?"

"She is not, daimyo-sama," Akitami informed his master, recalling that young woman seated outside her little hovel. "I distain to admit it, but despite the stories, she has fastidiously held up to her reputation."

Momentarily, no words were exchanged. By this time, Mononobe had descended from the upraised platform and now stood so close to the taishou, he could make out the details in his scar. Regardless of his subject's reassurance, he could not dispel the dubious feeling that flooded him. "I trust you are aware that this Kameyo-_sama_ sides neither with youkai or human? She may not be reliable." Akitami lifted his chin and fixed Mononobe with a serious look and the daimyo was reminded of his unfailing loyalty. Surely some good would be borne from Akitami's decision. He sighed gently and turned away. "Very well," the daimyo mounted the upraised platform again, "I will trust your judgment."

Akitami and Isamu bowed low.

"We thank you humbly, daimyo-sama." He called out, his tone saturated in gratitude and reverence, "Your wide heart and tolerance towards our wayward actions is truly an honor to serve."

It was thusly with this that the nauseous and exhausted woman was finally permitted entry into the citadel. She was quickly escorted inside until this strange miko found repose at long last.

* * *

_**Mononobe**__ = (Mo no-no be) this is an existing name of a prominent family during the Asuka period. It was virtually obliterated by its rival, the Soga clan, in a bloody clash over who was to ascend to the throne. Later, the clan reemerged as Isonokami, but I chose to stick with the original name as it will hold its significance later._

_Long chapter, I know. I'm afraid a lot of the others will end up like this as well (hell, maybe even longer if I find it necessary). Also, sorry for all those words you have to read. I wish I could say that the next chapter will be less Japanese-y, but I could be lying, so, cross your fingers and hope to die… in yet another cesspool of words_

_Á bientôt mes amis!_


	4. III

You may or may not run into unnecessarily italicized words. If you do, please ignore them. They are the result of me typing at an ungodly hour. I've no idea how it happened, but I did my best to weed them all out.

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**When Blossoms Wilt**

**Rating:** M for complex themes  
**Genre:** Action/Adventure/Supernatural  
**Disclaimer:** Do not own

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**GLOSSARY**

I'll try to avoid using foreign jargons, but there are a few terms that either cannot be translated into English or are necessary to set the mood to the story.

**Datejime:** Thin sash used to tie the nagajuban and the outer kimono. In the case of the story's beginning, the datejime is used to fasten only the nagajuban because of the absence of the outer kimono.

**Hyakushou:** Peasant, farmer

**Kami:** God

**Kamon:** Japanese crest used to symbolize a certain family.

**Kannushi:** A Shinto priest with holy powers. Although this term is now used synonymously to shinshoku (a man without any powers who simply works at a shrine and holds ceremonies), remember that this story takes place during the Azuchi-Momoyama era, thus, my emphasis on differentiation.

**Obi:** Literally, belt. The sash wound and knotted around the waist to keep the kimono shut

**Saya:** Scabbard

**Sodeguchi:** Sleeve opening

* * *

**- III -**

DARKNESS SWAMPED SHIROHASU'S MIND. IT WAS OF THE DEEP DISORIENTING VARIETY, THE SORT THAT FELL UPON ONE WHO HAD GONE ON A LONG JOURNEY AND DENIED OF PROPER REST. Blackness lay upon her dreamless mind heavy and thick like downy coverlets; it shimmered and swirled, ebbing away into conscience whose presence slipped in before she could be made aware. Then slowly, as though a little soot rousing from winter's long torpor, tired, heavy pain tingled through her limbs.

Hazel eyes opened, staring up at an unknown ceiling. The room's air felt sharp and cold against her exposed nose, but Shirohasu—still completely affected by the tenacious whim of sleep—pulled the heavy blanket over her face and rolled languidly on her side, snuggling deeper into her warm burrow. She laid awhile with her eyes closed, mind humming uncontrollably, despite her body's need to rest as her entire soul filled with consciousness that spread relentlessly as would a violent conflagaration.

Little noises leaked through unseen holes in the balmy silence she had been formerly enclosed in. The unyielding howls of the wind, groaning of protesting trees, and the ceaseless creaking was nothing she had been accustomed to. They were so loud in her ears, so fresh and clean, yet frightening all the same. Shirohasu felt as though her body had shrunk many times its original size and the room wherein she resided seemed to expand without stop. All the while, her mind continued its rapid submergence from sleep until suddenly she could sleep no more. Shirohasu opened her eyes and stirred in warm blankets that felt strangely unfamiliar in spite of her comfort. It was with this feeling that sprung Shirohasu up from her bed, the covers crumpling around her waist.

The cold swept in through the thin silk screen, its gelid fingers slipping past the thin fabric of her nagajuban and biting into her flesh. Shirohasu shivered and shrank back against the comforting folds of her blanket, tucking it closely around her chin as she rocked her body to vanquish the trespassing chill. Though she had succeeded in warming herself, the wraithlike hand had already snatched away the last thread of soporific comfort, jerking her into sudden clarity. With this, however, Shirohasu brought her limbs closer to her body, large frightened eyes resurveying the environment.

Grey light streamed in through the uniform procession of shoji behind her. Now that she could see clearly, she had been sleeping on a bed of thick white futon rolled out over soft furs. A small ceramic dish resting on a long ornate shaft stood not too far from where she sat. It was filled with a small pool of kerosene, from which a small bit of a frayed wick peeped up from its calm surface. Having been enclosed in a small space, she could see little past the flimsy wall of bamboo shades, which had in lowered so that they touched the tatami mats. Inside, everything was lined with translucent silk draperies that hung down and tinted everything in a purple light when she peered through them. The chamber's ceiling, however, was exposed, its low walls covered with crème wallpaper.

True, she had absolutely no idea where she was and how she came to be here, but she would have no way of finding out unless she stood up and found out herself. Fearful as Shirohasu may have initially felt, this feeling dissipated, replaced by a strong sense of curiosity that now overtook of her. She wanted to know what was out there, and it was difficult to discern anything beyond her eloquent barricade. Without out further delay, Shirohasu forced herself to a stand. The coverlet fell away from her, revealing it true form, which was really a very large robe. It was one delicious hue of gold, free of any embellishment save for an orange kamon resembling a bell flower with nine curling petals encased within a bold annular line.

As Shirohasu stood, the hem rose with her then cascaded, pooling at her ankles as she carefully pushed the silk and bamboo aside. Beyond this, the rest of the room was completely unfurnished and rectangular in shape. The three walls facing Shirohasu also consisted of a wall of shoji, all of them closed, except for the one directly across from her, which had been left ajar. This opened to yet another room of same shape and dimension and yet another row of shoji, this time shut fast. Here, there too was nothing, and it was the same with the next four that followed, until finally Shirohasu stepped out into the hall.

The ceiling here was higher up vaulted by wooden boards and rafters painted a brilliant shade of red—almost vermillion. The flooring was of dark wood, impeccably swept and polished. A row of pillars bearing candles shot up along both sides of Shirohasu, stretching away from her in circular fashion. In the very center of, a gaping hole fell away into a dark, dusty abyss.

Pulling the robe around her shoulders, Shirohasu thrust her thin arms through the large dipping sode and flipped the front of her robe shut. The soles of her bare feet burned from cold as they drummed quietly along the spacious corridor. For the most part it seemed as though she was at the topmost floor, but when Shirohasu had walked in an almost a full circle, a set of steep stairs cast in dull flickering light objected her initial assumption. Upon closer inspection, Shirohasu noted a hole (barely large enough to fit a full-grown man) in the ceiling and from it, the hushed sounds of voices slicing through the howling of the gale outside.

Though not exactly pleasant, these voices marked to be the happiest sound Shirohasu heard since she had woken up in this large and terrible place. Drawn by the sharp humanness in these excited tones she crept toward the stairs and leaned against it, angling her head in vain attempt to get a better look. This did nothing at all to help the strange woman; all it did was make a little pain in her neck. She saw nothing, only a smear of rust colored light hovering just at the lip of the entrance where the hissing and snapping increased only by a few decibels. Even here it was still impossible to draw out the subject of their debate. A good hour had passed, and the voices did not cease. Lured by the music of irritated voices, Shirohasu was so impatient to get a better ear on the conversation, all her sense of prudence flew from her mind. To her, there was only the sweet, comforting thought of human company. So without further delay, she gathered the hem of her robe in her arms, stealthily ascended the steps and listened:

"—There are times when I scarcely understand your logic, Akitami," a silky drawl floated down to Shirohasu's ready ears. "While you are and will always be among my few favorites, that is not enough to dispel all of my doubts."

"We have no other choice, Mononobe-sama." Akitami's baritone rumble insisted, "You know the truth as well as me and the next sensible man: They cannot be fought without divine intervention. If we wish to ensure victory, then this is the only way."

Shirohasu cocked her head and wondered with all her might what this 'this' and these 'they' could possibly be.

"I do not spit upon the divine powers," a voice obviously belonging to Mononobe countered firmly. There was a brief pause, then, "What of the miko who vanquished the foul Naraku and purified the Shikon no Tama? I have heard rumors that the gods have bestowed upon her the gift of immortality for her virtuous deeds… could she not provide us with aid?"

"Please excuse my impudence, Mononobe-sama," The third, more youthful voice contradicted, "We have taken that option into consideration, but learned that those rumors are what they are. The true story of the Miko-sama is that she died young a few years after the incident had been resolved. And even so, should this unshakeable truth be proven false and the rumors true, one mustn't forget that the O-Miko-sama favors the preservation of the ancient order above all else; she had wedded a hanyou after all."

"Isamu is correct," Akitami continued, confidence now fueled by Isamu's rebuttal, "Per your orders, Mononobe-sama, we've scoured the land for many able miko and kannushi. In the end, the Gogyō-ishi remained silent as it had been when we first obtained it. As fanciful as the rumors were to us, we were given no other choice but to pursue Kameyo-sama… Please understand, she was our only hope."

A long silence descended over them, the only sound filling air being Shirohasu slow breathing. She did not understand anything of divine powers, or of who this Kameyo-sama was and the whole medley of ancient orders and old generations. All of these were new to her ears, but despite her novelties, they made for strangely excellent and fascinating tales that immediately drew her in. So bewitching was the conversation that Shirohasu—spellbound by the splendors of magic-women and anonymous adversaries—instinctively leaned forward, thusly taking no notice to the robe soundlessly twisting around her ankles.

"And should this miko fail us," Mononobe mused aloud after much silence had passed, "What then?"

"Failure is not something we—" Akitami started his riposte but it was around this time Shirohasu's foot slipped. She relinquished squeak of surprise as she pitched forward before she could stop herself. The young woman gasped and muffled a yell of pain with her free hand as she rammed her knee into edge of the step she stood on. The gesture was in vain for her grasp on the handrail slipped and her elbow collided against the flat surface of the step above her. It echoed vociferously in the silence, drawing attention.

"Who's there?" Someone demanded. There was the curious grating of metal before dull footsteps trampled overhead_._ Shirohasu thought to bolt immediately, but sooner than she could fumble to her escape, the young woman found herself nose-to-nose with the sharp point of a katana_._ It was by this time that all the light had gone from the bleary sky. The madly flickering candlelight reflected off the polished metal, lending it a metallic sheen of glistening orange. Her gaze traveled cautiously up the curve of the blade to a face strewn with shadows.

Akitami glowered down at her. Shirohasu could not help but tremble before the surly and fully-armored found it impossible to take her eyes off his sword, staring into it with such intensity her vision blurred and her head spun. Out of the corner of her eyes, Shirohasu espied the adolescent face of Isamu, who joined his master with his own weapon drawn. Brief, they stared each other down until Akitami suddenly realized who the intruder was. The samurai's ferocious gaze softened and he hastily lowered his weapon, stowing it back into his saya, simultaneously doing his best to will his stoniness away, but with little success.

They stared at one another, Akitami quietly struggling to cajole the obviously frightened woman but to no avail. The young woman simply gawked back, eyes wide and her body frozen from the fear and shame for having been caught eavesdropping on their conversation. This grave suspension progressed for what felt a year to Shirohasu before all the previous events suddenly caught up with her. "I'm…" A pregnant pause fell over them as she struggled to formulate an appropriate explanation. Try as she might, nothing coherent surfaced in her mind, but a strangled "I'm sorry!" Face aflame, Shirohasu quickly gathered the hem of her robe in her fists and prepared to flee down where she came.

Unfortunately for Shirohasu, she had not gone a single step before a hand on her arm stopped her in a firm grasp.

"Miko-sama…" Akitami grounded out. There was an awkward pause before he suddenly grew conscious of his rigid hold. He quickly released her and cleared his throat, hoping that it would emolliate his aggressive tone. "Had I realized you had awoken..." Shirohasu's pink lips curled down in a contemplative frown. Surely he wasn't referring to her, was he? The young woman turned stiffly on the stairs and raised her eyes to meet his. Akitami stood back and gesticulated tacitly to the level above them. She leveled her eyes warily on the katana tied to Akitami hips. What options did she have? So, with her eyes fixed on his weapon, Shirohasu carefully climbed the rest of the way up to the top.

The tenth floor of the citadel was large, constructed to accommodate warriors rather than women, children and their footservants. It was clearer to Shirohasu now what this odd place was used for, though she had yet to decipher why her presence here. Thankfully, it was not so surprising why the levels below this chamber were so sparsely furnished. Still, this did little to alleviate the intimidating factor that the only decoration provided were the three armored men, all equipped with his necessities. Two of them stood by the entrance where Shirohasu cautiously emerged. At the opposite end of the chamber stood a dais bearing Mononobe, who sat with his head perched haughtily on an erect back and his legs folded and crossed Indian style.

The samurai bowed awkwardly to Shirohasu then proceeded to properly introduce her to his daimyo. Being a warrior, however, Akitami rarely came in contact with anything related to the divine. The taishou was at a complete loss of what to do, for he too had been ill-acquainted to the strange woman. She had been unconscious for the vast majority of the return trip, giving even him little knowledge of her, not even her name. For now, nothing could be done except to guide the confused woman to Mononobe with gentle vigilance.

Regardless of his efforts, no matter how noble they seemed, Shirohasu felt no alleviation from Akitami's meticulous care. Instead of calming her, Akitami's gesture had a reverse effect. His staunch formality left a stifling impression on the young stranger, who did not remember being regarded with such a high degree of respect. When the two men bowed low to her, she could not help but stutter and flutter about awkwardly while ineloquently wringing her hands before she finally plopped ungracefully on the proffered cushion.

Mononobe, on the other hand, acknowledged her with a languid nod of his head. "Your name?" He inquired calmly, stiffening at the fact that the strange woman did not even kneel before him, as a proper lady would.

"S-shirohasu."

"From which temple do you hail from, miko?"

Shirohasu opened her mouth, unsure of how to answer the question. "I… " She bitout hesitantly, "…I don't particularly belong in any shrine..."

The sharp intake of his breath resonated sharply in the empty room.

Mononobe averted a sharp gaze to Akitami. "You were aware of this?"

Akitami knelt on the spot near the daimyo's platform, resting both fists on his lap, elbows pointed out. "Though there is little that I know of the miko, your presumption is true." He answered solemnly, his head tilted down so that he gazed fixedly on a crack in the floor.

"And you've entrusted your faith_—_no, _my_ faith to this lowly hyakushou woman?" The daimyo demanded, doing his best to squash down a burst of disappointment.

"Faith?" Shirohasu inquired, desperately struggling to grasp an understanding of their conversation.

"Upon our firstacquaintance,itwas difficult for us to believe ourselves… that the Miko-sama destined to bring salvation was less than even common woman." Akitami explained to Mononobe without the slightest acknowledgement of her question.

"You know full well, that I have always trusted your judgment, Akitami and I still do. Even so, I cannot help but feel as though she," Here, the daimyo gesticulated pointedly to Shirohasu, "Is not what we seek. Strange as she appears outwardly, I find it increasingly difficult to believe that she possesses any holy powers. Should she indeed harbor any amount of spirituality, I cannot help but wonder, would any of it benefit us?"

"In our eyes, we too thought she could not be one to possess the immense spiritualityrequiredto aid us. Regardless, the Gogyō-ishi…" At this point, Akitami voice dropped to such a low whisper Shirohasu had to strain her ears to hear the rest, "In her hands, everything changed."

"Everything had changed, you say?" Mononobe ponderedaloud, more to himself than Akitami. He reached into the dip of his sode and produced small, roundish stone, which he held up and examined. Being no larger than a quail's egg, the Gogyō-ishi was demure in appearance, not at all elegant with a crudely fashioned dragon coiling around a frankly polished sphere. The daimyo gazed down contemplatively at it, momentarily lost in thought. "This, we shall see." He murmured softly, after some quietude. He lifted his head and fixed illegible eyes on Shirohasu, thrusting the object toward her with a prompt, "Take it."

Shirohasu stared blankly at the stone, as though it had thwarted her. She wanted to know what was going on, and was certainly not in the mood to touch anything. "Please," The young woman muttered deploringly, "I only want to know what's going on."

Mononobe cast her a scathing look. Properly checked, Shirohasu nervously lowered her eyes to her lap. "I only wanted to know," She muttered softly, dampened with her request was curtly ignored. Oblivious to the young woman's mood and impatient with her dilatory, the daimyo's hand snapped out. He carelessly gripped Shirohasu's wrist just beneath the inside of her sodeguchi and jerked her toward him, as though he was going to punish her. She shivered as the cold metal from his tekko burned against her delicate skin. With one rough movement, Mononobe pushed the sleeve back, revealing her hand and wrist. "Like so." He spat, then let go as curtly as he had taken her arm and settled back to his previous position.

Deep down inside, Shirohasu wanted to stamp her foot, to complain, to tell these men that she didn't give a damn about their silly Gogyō-ishi and that she only wanted answers. Until now, she felt like she had been inside a soundless bubble enveloping her in a dream. When Mononobe seized her, the coldness of his tekko had felt so solid it served as the needle that popped her back to reality. The harsh words sat on the tip of her tongue, ready to lash out at them at any given moment. Abruptly, she remembered the sword that hovered inches away from her nose and thought with a shudder what might have happened if the strange man holding it had not checked in time. What would come about if she were to decline? Would she be gutted through like a fish? The young woman glanced at the three occupants in the candle lit room, each looking more ferocious than the next. What choice did she have?

None, she silently told herself, head dipping in defeat.

Under the daimyo's vigilant glower, Shirohasu quietly complied. Her fingertips brushed the surface of the stone. Slowly, the young woman let her fingers close around it, lifting it from Mononobe's palm. It felt like ice beneath her skin and was smooth to the touch, possibly from having been passed on through many hands over many years. The three warriors leaned expectantly, but nothing happened. Shirohasu examined the crude scales etched over the stone and wondered, what was so special about a piece of rock? Then, just as she stretched her arm out to return the curious object to its owner, a bead of white light emanated from the center orb encased in the dragon's writhing body. The resplendent radiance grew steady, bathing the room with its warm light.

"By the Kami…" the daimyo breathed, as the ball grew in size, the shortness of his voice fled along with the darkness and his initial misgivings. Shirohasu also watched, her own eyes large at the phenomenon unfolding before her eyes. This should have given her an inkling of what was going on, but as the ball of light slowly retracted back whence it had come, the answers did not come; only more questions that made her feel as cold and dark as she had ever been since she awoke.

"Mononobe-sama," Akitami began, but before he could say more, the taishou was cut off by a loud explosion that shook the room.

Mononobe head snapped up, his dark and calm irises surveying the chamber. Another mighty tremble—fairly stronger than the last—passed through the room, raining dust over them. The daimyo stood up, slightly irritated. "Have we been found out this quickly?" As though to respond to his question, there was a horrible jolt that sent Shirohasu jostling into Isamu. She scraped her cheekbone against his plated sode before the young retainer caught her before she fell. The Gogyō-ishi tumbled out of her hands, rattling noisily against the floorboard as it rolled away from her. Again, the tremor shook the citadel. Someone pushed her down and threw himself over her to shield her from a blast that tore away one of the walls, sending a shower of wreckage across the room. Cold air flooded the chamber, extinguished the scant fires that lit it as it surged in, plunging everything into velvety blackness.

"Quickly," Akitami's hoarse baritone pierced through the darkness, firm and steady. "We've no time."

There was a hand on her upper arm. Someone was drawing her upright again and leading her unceremoniously toward a weak glimmer of light in the floor. It was not until Shirohasu found herself blinking in the level below that she saw who led her back down.

Isamu gave Shirohasu's arm gentle tug and ran along the annular corridor. So quiet he had been throughout the entire conversation that she forgotten all about his existence among his masters. They hurried along the walls and through a door Shirohasu had never seen before. This opened to a short, dimly-lit hall that led them to a hidden staircase. This descended straight to a basement chamber with nothing but what Shirohasu thought was a dead end. The young retainer released her long enough to fidget with something in the floor until there was a smooth click, then guided her through a wall that gave away to smaller bare room with wooden floor panels. Here, Isamu bent on one knee and pried one particular square in the center, revealing a gaping hole.

This was nothing but a small drop, which opened up over a patch of frozen dirt seven feet below. Isamu released Shirohasu's arm and raised his serious brown eyes to hers. "Not too far from here stands an unused stable at the forest edge over yonder," His voice was low due to some unknown fear, which Shirohasu could neither grasp nor comprehend. Isamu reached out and took her hand, slowly turning it over so that her palm faced the low ceiling overhead. "Akitami taishou will most definitely return for you. Now that he understands the nature of your powers, the daimyo will undoubtedly send him return you to him once the dispute is settled. Until then, please take this and wait there." He pressed the Gogyō-ishi into her hand. "My task as the taishou's servant has been completed for now. Though I regret to do so, I must leave you, O Miko-sama."

"Wait," Shirohasu managed, grabbing at Isamu with desperate hands, but the young retainer had already lowered her through the trapdoor and released his hold on her. She could only stare up, wide-eyed, into his tiny white face.

"Please take care not to wander into the forest at this hour."

"Why?" Shirohasu asked, raising her curious eyes to Isamu.

"When the night is nigh, the world becomes treacherous, O Miko-sama. You above all else should know this." Having completed his part, Isamu bid her goodbye with a low bow. The panel was placed back in its place and Shirohasu found herself staring at the ceiling, left once again alone in the dark.

**x x x**

The night thickened and, as though they too had grown weary of their icy assault on the barren earth, the low clouds thinned. A night had passed since Sesshoumaru visited Inuyasha. The white youkai had expected to sweep in to vanquish that source of strangeness then sweep out leaving little disturbance as possible. His plan, however, was only feasible with a second party. His brother had already trampled across what Sesshoumaru felt was a gesture that should have been held in high regards. He had, after all, yielded a large portion of his pride; Inuyasha should have been honored to be given such a chance.

A light crease wrinkled over Sesshoumaru's flawless brow. How utterly bothersome the situation had become. It irritated him (who didn't enjoy the company of most humans much) that he had to deal with such lowly creatures. He wanted to minimize as much dealing with the filths by simply shattering their petty resolve that somehow planted itself in them. But is ignorant brother had ruined it all. Booted feet crunched curtly over the finely powdered ice and the white youkai pursed his lips. What difference would it make now? Sesshoumaru knew that stewing in his frustration would change nothing. He might as well forget about his pest of a brother and finish the job himself.

Silent, he closed his eyes. A strong gale blew the ends of his long hair out, the strands flicking silver beneath the serene glow as it carried his anticipation with it.

He had followed that same foreboding sensation to where the fortress rose up atop the mountain top. Grey light lit up one side of the fortress's façade as it rose in the night sky, its tiled rooftops steeped in dark relief. The white youkai unsheathed Bakusaiga then, planting his right foot firmly in the ground, broke off into a run, his haori rustling in the wind behind him. The ground slid under him, now an indistinct blur of monochromatic colors. Up ahead, before his eyes, the fortress grew quickly in sight magnifying into wide gates, guarded by a team of unsuspecting guards. They hardly had the time to scramble to their weapons. A flash of green flared from his tensed claws, quickly succeeded by a sickening hiss and the acrid stench of bubbling flesh.

Having ridded himself of the petrified soldiers, Sesshoumaru unsheathed Bakusaiga and swung it into the ground.

Splinters of the wooden gates blasted outward, the massive doors skittering across the dirt floor. Sesshoumaru catapulted himself from the makeshift opening into a throng of half-panicked foot soldiers. One eloquent flourish of Bakusaiga cut them down with ease, relinquishing death and blood from the bodies as they fell in his wake. He had breached the outer courtyard within seconds, and it fell away as the white youkai penetrated into the fortress, leaping easily atop the fencing that enclosed a maze of passageways.

On he rushed, up a long flight of stairs. Acid green clouds emanated from his hands mingling with the fetid clouds of death hissing into the wintry air. Up ahead, a small battalion of humans assembled in front of the gates opening into the main courtyard, each armed with longbows. They fumbled with their arrows to notch their bows, but Sesshoumaru never gave them the chance. Bakusaiga whipped through their bodies, staining the ground upon which they stood dark crimson.

It was here that he stopped. The white youkai stood amid the littered corpses and raised his smouldering eyes to the highest peak of the citadel, from where that dense persistency emanated like an invisible fog. From it, Sesshoumaru sensed confusion and fear. He advanced on his target, his urgency now abated by his taking action. Haste was no longer of any importance to him; the human whom he hunted having been caught in a deathtrap and she knew it. Bakusaiga gripped tightly in his fist, Sesshoumaru bore eyes into the fortress, as his blade ascended almost leisurely. For a moment, he stood, locked in eloquent stillness. His katana hovered, frozen in the dusty air, giving its master the illusion of a beautifully sculpted statue erected amid battered rubble. Another glacial wind blew nervously across the crumbling fortress as though it too took part of the event that unfolded across the earthly land.

Summoning his strength into the katana, Sesshoumaru swung Bakusaiga down in one fluid movement. A flash of blue erupted from Bakusaiga's bright silver blade. It flew through the velvety air, illuminating the night sky like a brief aurora before smashing into the topmost wall and exploded with a ferocity that shook the ground. Dust and debris rained down over the half-panicked soldiers below, killing some as they dispersing in random patterns to avoid being crushed. Being no longer a part of his concern, the white youkai ignored them. He leapt off the ground and hovered gracefully toward his target.

_Soon,_ he told himself as he drifted onto the newly created opening, _after this it would all be over._

Sesshoumaru landed on the jagged lip of the fortress and peered in, curious to see what he would find. In it, he saw Akitami and another man. Here, the peculiar scent was very strong, like the source had just been there, but there were no signs of its physicality, only the two humans who came at him brandishing their weapons. A ghost of a sneer flicked across the white youkai's countenance. Did they not comprehend the whole foolishness of their acts? An effortless stroke of Bakusaiga's blunt end made quick work of the daimyo and his samurai. Sesshoumaru peered contemptuously down at their crumpled bodies through his nose. Why did they even bother trying?

The scent he had trailed was fading farther and farther away now. Time was of the essence and the white youkai certainly held no desire in basking in human stench. Resting his katana easily in his grip, Sesshoumaru steeled forth. Outwardly, his face was an impassive mask but inside, his heart swelled with unforeseen anticipation. Indeed it was not much further now, but was would this really end this way? Sesshoumaru was not sure, but it did not hurt to try.

**x x x**

Shirohasu stood outside, accompanied only by the soundless, naked vegetation slumbering beneath broad quilts of snow. In the spur of the moment she had forgotten about the cold. Now her toes were slowly growing numb, and it was only then that she remembered her predicament. She had no shoes or even socks for that matter. Clutching her soaking robe in thin fingers, Shirohasu frantically searched for a trail or path that could lead her back indoors. With all her efforts, however, nothing was to be found. She was marooned outside with the sharp coldness of the air settling painfully into her skin. Having been left choiceless, there was only to move forward through the fields of snow.

A chill ran down her spine. The thought of having to step away from her meager shelter and delve into the snow was almost unbearable. Although frozen, the packed ground upon which she stood was dry; beyond the shelter of the main citadel, lay nothing but icy precipitation. Holding one last hope on returning indoors, Shirohasu scanned the trap door from which she had been lowered. It was too high up to reach and climb back through. Even if she could she doubted there was any way in opening it again except from the inside.

The defeated young woman sighed and let her gaze drop back to her naked toes. She idly tested them, to see if the nerves were still alive, and to her fortune, the stubby limbs curled obediently.

Sucking her breath in, she inched toward a narrow fissure in the unmarred snow and lifted a disheartened gaze to the layers of soft ice that surrounded it. There was indeed no option for her whatsoever, only that she was to do as instructed. Such a thought was not at all a happy one, but it was the only realistic one to follow. Shirohasu drew in a great breath then bravely planted her foot into knee-deep snow.

The pain was sharp and frigid. Every inch of her skin crawled, as though it was prickled with a thousand needles all at once. No matter how much Shirohasu steeled herself for the worst, the iciness forced her to grit her teeth and draw the crisp night air in through her nose. Every ounce of her mind begged her to stop, that going out there was far worse than the slow death that awaited her here. It took a godly amount of willpower to convince herself otherwise, but she was determined not to die here. So, mustering whatever strength she could, the young woman gathered the rest of her robes close to her thigh then plodded forth.

She harbored no desire to spend her time in the cold for fear that her limbs would fall prey to frostbite. It was with this thought that Shirohasu made rapid progress through the constricted passageway. The thin fracture in the snow led her a little ways from where she initially started, skimming close to the forest's edge. In the distance, beneath the argent half-moon, Shirohasu caught the silhouette of a small building several paces away. Around it was nothing but nature. It must have been the stable that Isamu informed her of earlier.

Relieved to have finally found shelter, Shirohasu made ready to hasten her pace. Something, however, stopped her. At first she thought it was only the wet snow biting into her toes, but when another tremor passed through her, the young woman realized something about that was off. A string of apprehension tingled down Shirohasu's spine. She took a few steps back and turned her head back to where she had come. From her side of the fortress she saw nothing out of the ordinary, only the steady drift of dust billowing eerily in the moonlight.

Some time in her escape, the sky deposited the last of the snow and cleared up, bringing forth grey light to the skeletal remains of the building erected against the jagged horizon. The vague emptiness of the cold had siphoned most her energy and the pain in her toes were killing her. Shaking the frightening sensation off, Shirohasu hurried on toward her destination.

The disused stable in Isamu's explanation stood with its back against a dense forest. It bore a scant misshapen roof barely held up by graying boards and looked positively depressing in the snowscape. She had been asked to wait here and it was the only shelter available aside from the citadel. It was ludicrous to think that she would so blindly trust perfect strangers, but Shirohasu had always been lonely by nature, and felt strangely removed from humanity. This sensation burned a hole so deep in the young woman's soul she could not help but instinctively lean on whatever she could manage. Perhaps it was the weather, or the fact that Shirohasu's mind wasn't bogged with fairytale mikos; whatever the case, now that she was outside, her mind felt clearer.

Holding a trait in her personality troubled her, but what use was there to pondering and self-bashing?

Shirohasu relinquished a sigh she'd forgotten she was holding. A whoosh of her crystallized breath traced dizzying whorls in the night then faded quickly as it had come. The young woman shook her head, hoping that the action would erase the loneliness and the incessant tingle in her spine (to which it did not), then clambered clumsily into the stable.

There was nothing inside, only piles of old straw shoved into a corner and patches of snow marking parts where the roof had collapsed. Luckily, a large pile of straw sat in a dark corner that seemed relatively dry, and it was here that Shirohasu eased herself into. The rough ticks dug painfully into her feet and legs, but it was better inside, away from the bitter wind. Having finally found a place of repose, the young woman drew her knees close to her chin, wrapped her arms around them, and waited.

**x x x**

It felt like hours had gone by since she lay huddled in her fetal ball. An interminable silence stretched out until Shirohasu felt certain she would go mad with solitude. She could no longer feel her fingers, clasped tightly around the curious Gogyō-ishi, which she had brought out to examine. It was impossible to discern where that light had come from, or if that all had been nothing more than a bizarre dream. Painfully, Shirohasu loosened her taut muscles and raised her head to look up through the gape in the roof. Funny, how she could see the moon from where she lay in its haunting white light. Where was she? How did she get here and why was she even here?

Light furrows buried themselves between her brows as she thought. When Shirohasu had woken up, she had been far too disoriented to even fathom her place, only curious and accepting of what she saw. Now, faced with hunger and harsh cold leaking through every crack in the stable, the questions came to her with such velocity it gave her a headache. Shirohasu sighed and let her head fall back into the corner again.

"Why do I have holes in my memory?" She whispered into the darkness, speaking only to relieve her disturbance.

Silence, as always, produced nothing, and her question melted into the steely air, unanswered. For a moment, Shirohasu lay in it, eyes staring blankly out, her ears listening to nothing but the whistling wind and the creaking boards. At first, she could hear nothing but those two unbearable rhymes, then slowly, as though a choir was easing in the main tune, the lucid crunching of snow reverberated in the dark air. The fresh noise jolted Shirohasu in an upright position. She listened with rapt attention as the mysterious footfalls neared, increasing in volume as it filled the whole space with its joyous munch until, finally, it came to a grinding halt just outside the stable. Shirohasu started on her wooden feet, happy to be liberated from the hateful web of desolation and solitude.

That tingle of trepidation in her spine returned, now so sharp, it sent Shirohasu's heart flitting nervously in her ribcage like a trapped bird. She halted abruptly halfway between sitting and standing. There was the unmistakable scrape of metal and gradually the door eased forward, casting the strange woman in shadow. From the darkness, Shirohasu made out a pair of smoldering gold orbs, each aligned with near-perfect symmetry, like a pair of eyes.

When it finally occurred to her that she _was_ squinting into a pair of eyes, the strange woman stumbled backward against the all, mouth open in alarm. The owner of these eyes stepped into the silver light and where she expected to see Isamu stood someone else. He was a man that topped her by at least half a head and bore a handsome face framed by luminous white hair, despite his youthful appearance.

Sesshoumaru glowered derisively upon the crumpled woman before him. It was the first time they'd met face to face, and though she was far from presentable to any respectable person, that same impending feeling only intensified. The white youkai had always believed needless killing (particularly beings frail as humans) was a dishonorable act, but he knew that to keep her alive was too dangerous. Watching the strange woman raise a delicate arm toward him, brought pity and contempt to Sesshoumaru. It was sickened him to endure the situation any longer.

Bakusaiga cut through the cold air, the blade ready to strike the strange woman's neck as an uncanny act of mercy. It was all supposed to end right then and there; he was supposed to step away from yet another dismembered body, but as fate would have it, nothing worked according to plan. Upon impact, Shirohasu flickered like she was nothing but a mere apparition and blade cleaved through pearlescent mist. Sesshoumaru stared, momentarily bewildered by what had transpired, but it did not last long.

His gaze hardened.

Still and stoic as ever, Sesshoumaru let the strange woman's scent drift into his senses again. She smelled as human and alive as any other he encountered in his past. Surely killing one, even if she was potentially dangerous, would not be this difficult? The white youkai's frown deepened. Something was off and horribly wrong.

Shirohasu, who was equally as mystified by the ordeal, stared back at him eyes wide and mouth still open. All the while, she was at a loss or words and even actions to convey her confusion toward what came to light. Ordinarily, she should have been shocked and appalled with the stranger's attempt to decapitate her, but there was the even more puzzling confusion of her still being alive. Still entranced in a dreamlike mist, Shirohasu brought her hands close to her face.

Only moments prior, she felt like an outsider looking in on a world built on folklore and the intangible magic woven into it. What she had witnessed was undeniably of another dimension of spiritual ambiguity. Now, she did not feel so sure about her place in it.

Slowly, hazel met marigold. Unbeknownst to them, their unseen red threads looped and knotted tightly in place. Unsuspectingly they stared at one another, their minds lost in their own thoughts. Through they did not know it now, it was with this that gods set up their little play things and their fates were sealed.

* * *

_**Shirohasu**__ (Shi-ro-ha-su) = White Lotus  
__**Gogy**__**ō-ishi**__ (Go-gyou i-shi) = Water Stone_

_This chapter was a nightmare to write—so many transition errors. Gawd, my eyes, how they burn!_

_Sometimes, I still wake up drenched in cold sweat just thinking about how long it took me to string my scant imagination together. That or I'm such a nit-picky little fart._

_Anyway, as always, __á__ bient__ô__t mes amis!_


End file.
